


keeping a secret

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Series: the driam vignettes [3]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M, feat. the beaumont hookup study everyone's fave!!!!, warning for sad maxwell its hard to read i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: breakfast in bed and maxwell’s 21st birthday party. what could go wrong?





	keeping a secret

**Author's Note:**

> this is driam vignettes part three! this covers the driam golden years so to speak, post drake’s return from college. it’s all downhill from here.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, still too bright for Drake’s taste. He groans, rolling back over in the bed and pulling a pillow over his eyes.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

He lifts the edge of the pillow back up, hazarding a glance out into the room. Liam is sitting next to him, typing away on his laptop, already fully dressed. He smiles when he catches Drake peeking out at him. “Do you want breakfast? I brought some back up for you.”

He’ll never get used to it, waking up to Liam. Even though it’s been months, he still feels the same jolt in his heart seeing him as he did the first morning they woke up together. If only it didn’t have to be so… early.

“Why are you awake?” Drake squints up at him. “It’s Saturday.”

“I like the morning.”

“Weirdo.”

Liam pushes the pillow off his face, laughing when Drake covers his eyes with his arm. “Drama queen.”

“What did you say about breakfast again?” he yawns, pushing himself up in a sitting position, leaning over to rest his chin on Liam’s shoulder.

Liam turns to kiss his forehead. “It’s over by the side table. Probably getting cold, you should hurry.”

“As you wish, your _highness_ ,” Drake leans up to kiss his cheek before pushing back the covers and sliding down to the floor. He crosses the room towards the scent of fresh-baked bread and orange juice, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What are you working on?”

“Leo wants me to look over some speech he’s giving in Portavira this week.”

“Sounds like you’re doing more than looking it over.” He twists a jar open, reaching for a piece of toast.

“Well… it’s a bad speech.”

Drake laughs, smearing way too much jam on the bread. “Doesn’t he have a staff for this sort of thing?”

Liam sighs. “He does, but… he asked me.”

“He’s been asking a lot of you lately,” Drake heads back, holding the toast in his mouth as he hops back up, settling down near Liam’s side. “Isn’t he supposed to start doing his own shit now that he’s engaged?”

“Napkin,” Liam says, still intently focused on his laptop.

Drake rolls his eyes, but extracts himself from his cozy position to go grab a napkin off the table anyway. “Okay, but really,” he calls back to Liam, “When is he going to start getting serious?”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t know if he ever will. That girl — his fiancée — she’s the most serious person I’ve ever met. Maybe that’s his plan.”

“Can’t say I’m jealous,” Drake returns to his spot on the bed, this time reaching out to thread his fingers with Liam’s. “Sounds like the worst job in the world.”

Liam squeezes his hand. “Which one, being the King, or being married to him?”

“Take your pick.”

Liam laughs. “Hopefully I’m not so much of an inconvenience?”

“Never.” Drake scoots closer to Liam, sidling up against him. “You’re perfect.”

Liam smiles, shooting him a quick glance before returning to his work. “And I’m not the king.”

“Thank god for that.” Drake wraps an arm around Liam, reaching up to brush his fingers through his hair while he watches him type. “I can’t believe Leo actually settled down.”

“Don’t jinx it. They’re not married yet.”

“He picked her, didn’t he? That’s gotta count for something.”

Liam doesn’t answer; he’s reading back over the speech, murmuring the words quietly to himself, brow furrowed. It’s cute, the way he thinks no one can hear him. Drake lets him read for a moment, still running his fingers gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. He smiles when he feels Liam lean into his touch, just the slightest tilt of his head, eyes still scanning the laptop screen.

“If you had to have a social season, would you pick me?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Liam’s temple.

“Only if you dressed up.” Liam turns and catches his lips, soft and sweet, and Drake pulls him closer, hand curling in against his hair. He can feel Liam smile against him, leaning their foreheads together when Drake pauses to catch his breath. “Of course I would. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Drake says, leaning back in. “I could kiss you forever.”

“You taste like marmalade,” Liam laughs, obliging him anyway. The computer slides precariously off his lap as he turns into Drake even more, the laughter fading into a contented hum as he slips one hand up the back of his shirt.

“Slow down,” Drake teases, “I haven’t even finished my toast.”

“You’re so warm,” Liam responds by nestling in against his neck, kissing the skin there as his other hand rubs small circles along the lines of Drake’s shoulder. “Why are you so warm?”

“Because not all of us get up at the ass-crack of dawn. The bed is nice, you know.”

“The bed _is_ nice. But that’s why I have you.”

“You could have me and the bed at the same time, though.”

Liam lifts his head up just enough to meet Drake’s eyes, the hand at his shoulder slowly dropping down to his hip, fingers dragging along Drake’s waistband. “Or you _in_ the bed.”

“I haven’t finished my _toast_ , Liam.”

Liam laughs and kisses him one more time, Drake holding him close just a beat longer than planned before pulling back, looking at Liam expectantly. “So… are you done?”

Liam looks down at the laptop, now perched precariously at the edge of the comforter. “Yes, I suppose I’m done.”

And thus begins their routine: Drake sneaking back into his room to mess up the covers so the maids don’t talk, Liam cleaning up breakfast as if it had only been for one, the two of them delivering their daily excuses to family and meeting back up outside, far from the watchful eyes of the nobility. It’s nowhere near traditional, but then, neither are they.

The palace gardens are a refuge, filled with snaking hedges and shadowy trees, blocking out the formidable presence of the palace itself. They walk through the maze they had memorized as children, now hand-in-hand, talking back and forth without a care in the world.

It’s as close as they can get to perfect, Drake’s sure of it: mornings spent talking over breakfast in bed, afternoons with the endless promise of new adventures, nights wrapped up in Liam’s arms, lovedrunk on each other. He knows that it can’t always be like this, even though the honeymoon bliss of the last few months entertains otherwise, but it’ll still be pretty damn good.

“When Leo gets married, I think I’m going to ask my father if I can start overseeing the estate at Applewood.” Liam says. “He’ll finally be able to hand things off to Leo officially once the coronation is done, and with Madeleine at the helm he probably won’t need me so much.”

“We can only hope,” Drake answers, “It’d be nice to have you all to myself.”

Liam smiles, ducking his head to hide it even as his fingers twist tighter in Drake’s. “Do you think Savannah will want to go to school?”

“Maybe _finishing school_ ,” Drake rolls his eyes. “All she talks about is stupid court shit. It’s just ‘Kiara says this’ and ‘Maxwell says that’ every time she opens her mouth.”

“If you wanted — well, if _she_ wanted, I suppose — I could ask Leo to introduce her to Madeleine sometime. Maybe she could be a lady-in-waiting.”

“That’s Savannah for you. Waiting for ladies.”

“She’ll grow into herself, she’s barely eighteen.”

Drake shakes his head, laughing. “That sounds like something  _she_ would say. It’s you two and your ‘baby of the family’ complexes, you’re getting to me.”

“You can’t be the baby if there’s only two. It’s not enough for a substantial difference.”

“Says you, the baby.”

Liam shoots him a smile, the sun filtering through the trees and lighting up his eyes. He’s got the kind of face a Renaissance artist would spend a lifetime trying to sculpt, never quite matching the feeling that stirs in Drake’s chest whenever he looks at him. And thank god for that, because Drake couldn’t handle Liam looking at anyone else that way, even in marble.

“What?” He’s been staring too long, and Liam is blushing. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I just…” Drake reaches up his free hand to brush the hair off Liam’s forehead, lingering against his skin. “Just you, is all.”

“Oh,” Liam’s eyes dart to the side, the blush deepening across his cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re stupid,” Drake replies. _Stupid beautiful._

“On that note, I have something stupid to ask you,” Liam stops, facing him. “If I went out to Applewood, would you… would you come with me?” He looks almost nervous, shifting his weight and not quite meeting Drake’s eyes.

“Liam, are you asking me if I want to live with you?”

“You already live with me,” Liam points out, “And if we go there, it’ll be so much quieter. We could be… normal.”

“Since when has anything about you been normal?”

The nervousness on Liam’s face melts away, replaced with a smile. “Is that a yes?”

“You know I would never say no to you,” Drake says.

Liam’s smile broadens, and he looks away, out into the expanse of the garden stretching out ahead of them. “I think you’d really like it there. The nobility only ever come out for the festival, and the rest of the town is much more relaxed. It’s one of my favorite places in Cordonia.”

“If you’re there, of course I’ll like it,” Drake says, “I’m with you wherever.”

“Wherever,” Liam repeats. He does this a lot, Drake’s noticed, almost as if he’s trying to reassure himself the words have meaning. As if promises and sentiments have only ever rung hollow in his past. With a family like Liam’s, Drake doesn’t doubt it.

“Love you,” he adds, wishing there was more he could give him, wishing for a concrete guarantee of his affection if only to keep Liam’s ever-present worries at bay.

“Love you too,” Liam kisses his cheek, the softest brush of lips on skin. “With all of me.”

There’s a bench up ahead, overlooking the pond at the center of the garden maze. The water lilies are in full bloom, breaking out against the glassy surface of the water like a Monet painting. Two swans glide in between the plants, white necks tall, clearly unaware and unconcerned with the royalty that must pass by them so frequently.

Liam sits, Drake following suit, and the two of them look out at the pond in silence for a moment. It’s comfortable, like the way Liam slots in against him before they fall asleep; silence that hums with familiarity.

Liam sighs.

“I can’t wait to leave all this,” he says, eyes following the swans as they continue their procession, “Not that I’m ungrateful to have it in the first place, but I’ve always dreamed of being given the chance to find what makes me happy.”

Drake turns to look at him. “You’re not happy now?”

“I…” Liam frowns. “I don’t know. What does it feel like?”

“Being… happy?”

Liam nods, and Drake is momentarily stunned into silence, unsure of how to reply. “Um… I guess it feels like… y’know,” He shrugs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck while he thinks. “The night that I came back from school, like that feeling… but softer. And always.”

Liam is still looking off into the distance, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe I just have a lot of things I’m feeling all at once. It’s harder to sift the good ones out.”

“ _Shit_ , Liam,” Drake shifts closer. “Do you always feel like that? Everything at once?”

“Is that weird?”

Drake sucks in a deep breath. “If you were anyone else, yeah.”

“You make me happy though,” Liam finally turns, catching his eyes. “I know that.”

“I’d sure hope so, at this point,” Drake shoots him a wry smile. “Be worried otherwise.”

“I know we say it to each other — I love you — but I want you to know… I mean,” Liam reaches over to take Drake’s free hand in his, threading their fingers together. “I’m _in_ love with you, too.”

Drake’s breath catches at the sincerity in Liam’s gaze. If only this boy didn’t have to _feel_ so much. Maybe it would be… easier.

“Right,” he fumbles, nodding too quickly, heart pounding. “Right, okay.”

“I wasn’t just joking when you asked me earlier, if I would pick you in a social season. I would, a thousand times over. I’d do it right now if you asked me to; throw a whole ridiculous event just so I could tell them all that I love you.”

“ _Liam_ ,” Drake whispers.

“I’m serious, I really am.” Liam moves closer, not breaking his gaze at all. “You’re it for me.”

“You’re…” Drake can’t think straight, “Liam, fucking Christ. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Anything you want.”

“I don’t even know how to… when you talk like that, I just wish…” He lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Well, I wish we weren’t outside in a garden like a hundred feet from the palace, for one.”

“Nothing wrong with the garden,” Liam says quietly. Drake elbows him, face flushed, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth regardless.

“I hope you know I don’t need any of that from you,” he says, “All those big gestures, I mean. I know that’s a thing with you nobles, but you don’t have to do that for me. As long as you’re there in the morning, you know?”

“I know.”

“God,” Drake runs a hand through his hair, eyes cast off to the side. “You make me crazy.”

Liam reaches his arm around the back of the bench, fingers resting against Drake’s shoulder, and leans in to press a kiss against his cheek. “Only in good ways, I hope.”

Drake shakes his head, turning to look at him so they’re barely a breadth apart. “Bad ways too.”

“Oh?” Liam’s eyes are sparkling. “Tell me.”

“Can’t,” Drake whispers, “Have to show you.”

It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s straddling Liam, flush tight against his chest as Liam pulls him closer on his lap, tongue pressing in against his lips. His hands are everywhere: twisting in Liam’s hair, tracing circles against the hollow of his throat, hooking in against his belt loops until the space between them exists only in past tense. Liam’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes flickering in a half-shut daze as Drake continues whispering to him in quiet nothings that mirror the movements of his hands.

They’re not as alert as they should be; both getting too comfortable in the routine of each other to be careful anymore. Leaves rustle in the background, one bird letting out a loud call that rings against the stillness of the pond. Drake can’t hear anything except Liam.

“We should…” Liam is struggling to keep his breathing even. “Inside… we should go inside.”

“Is that really what you want?”

“…No.”

The wind stings cold against the heat of their skin, but they can barely feel it.

“Oh my god,” Liam murmurs, head falling forward against Drake’s shoulder, fingers digging into his side. “What’re you —”

“Shh,” Drake whispers, “Someone could hear you.”

—

Maxwell’s twenty-first birthday party is just as everyone expected it would be: a rager for the ages. The line of cars waiting to be valeted has backed off the edge of the property, where a crowd of paparazzi stand eager to snatch a photo of an incognito celebrity guest or wayward wardrobe malfunction. There are not one, but _two_ DJs (each with a separate ‘dance experience,’ as Maxwell called it), and someone had let slip to the press that the open bar alone cost six figures. No one is surprised; Maxwell is never one to disappoint on expectations.

Drake just never expected he would find himself _at_ said party.

Not that Maxwell wouldn’t invite him, of course. Maxwell always invites him, to everything from childhood sleepovers to young adult debauchery. He rarely says yes, only ever agreeing to placate Liam, who already has so few close friends. This, naturally, is no exception.

Anyway. He’s not even supposed to be here. Everything, all of this, is inherently a fluke — once again, to placate Liam.

Savannah had begged him to let her come along, so at least he could pretend he was chaperoning for a while, but she’d darted off the second he was distracted, slipping away into the throngs of dancing strangers.

She’d been a nightmare on the ride over, reapplying her lip gloss in the visible slivers of the rearview mirror. “So… you have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

“What?” He’d twisted in his seat to stare at her. “Where are you getting _that_ from?”

“You hate parties. And you hate letting me go to parties even more, but here we are.” She’d shrugged, still dragging the brush across her lips. “She’s going to be here tonight, isn’t she? Can I meet her?”

“Oh my god.”

“Or do I already _know_ her? Drake, if I guess will you tell me? _Please_ say you’ll tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Drake had replied through gritted teeth. “I do not have a girlfriend. Fuck, how are we not there yet?”

Savannah smacked her lips together, tucking the tube of gloss back into her clutch. “Alright, so you’re just _interested_ in her then. Is it Olivia? I feel like she’s your type.”

“ _What_? Okay, first of all, that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, and second of all _no_ it’s _not_ Olivia because I already told you, _I do not have a girlfriend_.”

“Fine,” she’d pouted, turning to gaze out the window and finally, _finally_ dropping the subject. “Don’t tell me then. But I _will_ figure it out.”

After that display, he’d figured it was the least she could do to provide him with an alibi for his presence here, but apparently sibling love could only extend so far. He should’ve known, anyway, from the way the party lights gleamed in her eyes the second she walked in, utterly entranced. Whatever gene she’d gotten that made her flock to this shit, he sure didn’t have it.

He’d resigned himself to following Liam around for now, clinging to the one person he could count on in this crowd. If only that person weren’t also a prince.

“Sorry,” Liam says to him, for what must be the hundredth time that night, “I know you hate parties.”

“S’fine,” Drake shrugs, just as Liam is intercepted by yet another noble well-wisher. He tries to move her along quickly, smiling and nodding in that way he does, but they always linger. Drake sees the mask settle into Liam’s features as she speaks, and he’s exhausted just watching the two of them interact. He wonders how Liam has the energy.

The woman, tall and done-up to the nines, laughs loudly at something Liam says. She touches his arm with manicured hands, her fingers circling around his wrist like a handcuff.

It could very well have been innocuous, but Drake still has to tamper down the urge to yank her hand away. He compromises by taking Liam’s other arm in his, interrupting the conversation without much spared for propriety.

“Come on,” he says loudly, nodding towards the staircase, “Max — uh, _Lord Beaumont —_ is waiting for us. We can’t be late.”

The woman frowns, but draws back, and Liam apologizes before excusing himself, Drake already leading him away as firmly as he can.

“’Lord Beaumont is waiting for us’?” Liam says, once they’re out of earshot. “Maxwell would’ve loved to hear you say that.”

“Yeah, well, you better not tell him.” Drake pulls Liam just slightly closer, heading in the direction of the enormous staircase to the upstairs quarters. “It’s the only thing I could think of.”

“Well, thank you. But she wasn’t that bad, I promise.”

“Maybe to you,” Drake knows he’s walking too fast, but he’s had just about enough of this party and these people. “But _I_ had to watch.”

“I’m sorry.” Liam has to quicken his pace to keep up. “We can go home, if you want?”

“No, don’t be sorry, it’s not even that, it’s…” He frowns. “It’s so weird how they all just touch you. Like you belong to them or something, like you’re public property.”

“I’m a public figure.”

“There’s a difference.” Drake tugs Liam to the inset of the stairwell, away from the prying eyes of the court for just a moment. He lets out a frustrated sigh, and Liam steps in close, eyes locked on his.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, voice low. His eyes are sparkling, like he’s almost amused.

“Yes,” Drake leans in against him, “because you belong to _me_.”

Liam kisses him, and the jolt of fear that runs through Drake when he does — _what if someone’s over here, what if someone sees_ — is no match for the warmth that floods his veins at Liam’s touch.

Maybe they’re still crazy teenagers. Maybe they don’t know what they’re doing, not at all, but sometimes he feels like if he just _believes_ it enough, things will work out. Because Liam deserves it, because if anyone should get what they want — it’s Liam.

They’re both flushed when they finally pull apart, too wrapped up in each other to be certain of how long they’ve been there. Liam cradles the back of Drake’s neck, fingers wound in the hair there, eyes alight with the same sparks as the day Drake finally knocked on his door.

“I wish I didn’t have to breathe,” Drake says, embarrassed as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Liam smiles, so beautiful that suddenly the shame is all worth it.

“I wish we weren’t at this party.”

“We don’t have to be,” Drake says, “I was kinda heading towards the staircase for a reason.”

Liam raises his eyebrows, still smiling. “Oh were you?”

“Yeah, the upstairs is usually blocked off, no one to talk — oh. _Oh_.” He shakes his head. “You mean the Beaumont hookup study.”

“Not… necessarily.”

“Don’t act innocent, you’re trying to get me in that damned study.” Drake leans forward just enough to rest his forehead against Liam’s, eyes locked together. “Remember who you belong to, _your highness_.”

Liam hooks his fingers in Drake’s belt loops, pulling him so close that he stumbles forward a bit, one leg slipping between Liam’s. Liam looks down at him, still pressing closer even as Drake struggles to comprehend how there’s any space left to bridge.

“I think,” Liam murmurs, lips ghosting across the space where Drake’s jaw meets his neck, “you’re remembering wrong.”

“M’not,” Drake mumbles, one hand snaking up Liam’s back to clutch at his shoulder. God, he’s so weak.

“Really?” Liam kisses just below his pulse point, pausing there before bringing his lips against the shell of Drake’s ear, breath hot. “Because  _you’re_ the one who belongs to _me_.”

Before Drake can even catch his breath, Liam is gone, rounding the corner and heading up the stairs. “Hey!” Drake calls, face burning as he gathers his composure enough to hurry after him, “That is _not_ fair!”

Liam is laughing, and Drake takes the stairs two at a time to catch up to him, knocking his shoulder against Liam’s with a frown. “Not fair.”

“You liked it,” Liam teases, “You know I’m right.”

“You’ll see when I get you in that stupid study.”

The two of them duck under the roped off section at the top of the stairs, heading towards the family living quarters. The staff overseeing the security merely sigh at the intrusion, bowing slightly as the two of them pass. Honestly, Drake thinks, he and Liam should be the least of their concerns at a party thrown by _Maxwell Beaumont_.

“Your Highness.” A beat. “Master Walker.”

“Hope you’re enjoying the party,” Liam says, pausing to give each of them a properly regal nod, much to Drake’s chagrin. “Please give the Duke my regards.”

Drake takes his arm, leading them both further down the hallway, away from the watchful eyes of the security and the swell of the noise from downstairs. It’s still all-encompassing, the multiple DJs certainly doing their job, but at least upstairs it’s less deafening than before. And so many less people to pull Liam aside.

“For once you being a prince has come in handy,” he remarks, “I could get used to the all-access party pass.”

Liam laughs. “You hate parties.”

“Exactly. The all-access pass _out_ of the party.” Drake runs his hand along the wood-paneling of the walls, biting his lip. “So…”

“So…” Liam echoes, one eyebrow raised as he waits pointedly for Drake to continue.

“Thought you had, ah… plans.”

“For you?” Liam tilts his head, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “I always have plans for you.”

Drake steps forward, his fingers catching on the wood grain. “You’re gonna make me say it?”

“Say what?” Liam’s trying not to smile, but one corner of his mouth has already quirked up.

Drake sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Do you… know where the study is?”

The smile falls. “Wait, I thought _you_ knew where it was.”

“What? Why would _I_ know?”

“You brought it up.”

“You _insinuated_ it.”

“Oh well,” Liam reaches for his hand, linking their fingers together. “Looks like we’re going on a tour then.”

Drake’s spent years living in the palace, so he should be used to the opulent grandeur of the noble estates, but it’s still a bit daunting to walk through halls filled with décor worth more than his entire family. Maybe it’s that Maxwell is so decidedly un-noble, but Drake always forgets that the Beaumonts are so close to the line of succession.

At least the comfort of Liam’s hand in his is something — despite all the titles and money and designer clothes of everyone on the floor below, the prince is with _him_.

“What are you thinking about?” Liam asks.

“You,” Drake answers.

Liam rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. Drake’s unabashed adoration of him never fails to break his composure. “You always say that.”

“Because I’m always thinking about you.”

Liam squeezes his hand, dipping his head to hide his smile. “Well, I was thinking about you, too. About what it would be like to have Applewood all to ourselves, like this.”

“Minus the party.”

“Of course.”

Drake looks up at the high ceilings of the Ramsford mansion, the beams of ancient wood carved with centuries of family lore dating back to god knows when. “Maybe… maybe sometimes we could stay in the cabin on the back property?”

Liam follows his gaze. “Sorry, I know it’s all… a lot.”

“Just sometimes,” Drake replies. “I mean I can’t pretend it’s not incredible to be in a place like this, but every once in a while, don’t you just want something… simple?”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had something simple,” Liam admits, eyes falling back to Drake’s face. “But I’d like to have it with you.”

Drake kisses his cheek, quick and soft. It makes Liam smile again, the two of them still hand-in-hand as they make their way through the corridors, unguided. A few minutes go by in silence, Drake trying doors as they pass, each one without any give. God, the _one_ time they needed Maxwell to be irresponsible…

“You’d be the prince consort,” Liam says quietly.

“What?” Drake turns to look at Liam over his shoulder, one hand still on a doorknob.

Liam’s blushing again, looking off to the side. “I just mean… if we were together, um… you’d have a title.”

“Gross.” Drake tries in vain to hide his smile. “Anyway, aren’t we already together?”

“I mean, officially.”

“Okay,” Drake steps closer to him. “Aren’t we already _officially_ together?”

“Oh,” Liam’s voice has softened, “I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“I don’t think I’ve slept in my bed _once_ since I got back here,” Drake says, “And you’re worried about being presumptuous? Little late for that, your highness.”

“You know, if you’re prince consort, you’d be ‘your highness’ too.”

“Well, that’s no fun. Can I just be your boyfriend?”

Liam nods, a beat too quickly. Drake breaks into a smile, and for a moment they just stand there, looking at each other like giddy teenagers.

“I love you,” Liam says, tugging him closer by their joined hands. “No matter what, title or no title.”

“Love you too, you stupid prince.”

Liam lifts his free hand to cup the back of Drake’s neck, pulling him in close before he even has a chance to take a breath, kissing away the laughter on his lips. Drake wraps an arm around his shoulders, relaxing into him with a quiet sigh.

He should be used to it by now, but every time Liam kisses him, he still feels like that seventeen-year-old boy on the sand of the marina, lost in a daydream he never wants to leave.

Liam pulls back and looks at him with such reverence in his eyes that Drake finally has to turn away. “C’mon,” he says, voice hoarse. “If we don’t find that study in the next five minutes I don’t know what I’ll do.”

They set off again, rattling every doorknob they can find, pausing every so often to capture each other in kisses, hushed laughter echoing through the halls. Drake feels lovedrunk again, Liam the only thing he sees. Maybe an empty estate all to themselves wouldn’t be so bad, now that he thinks about it.

But five minutes pass and become ten, and ten becomes fifteen, and the art on the walls starts to look just a bit too familiar. And still, no study.

“You’re kidding me,” Drake lets out a frustrated groan after another futile attempt at what seems like the hundredth door. “Why are all these doors fucking locked?”

Liam doesn’t seem fazed, watching him struggle with another knob. “It’s almost as if Maxwell thought about security measures before inviting hundreds of strangers into his home.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re not helping. Can’t you use some of your prince karma to get one of these open?”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Liam says. “What reason am I going to give security?”

“Tell them I want to blow you.”

Liam’s face flushes so fast it makes Drake laugh. “What? You asked.”

“ _Drake_ ,” Liam hisses.

“Well, if you can’t find anyone, I’ll do it right here,” Drake teases, letting go of the doorknob and reaching out to tug at Liam’s collar with one finger, brushing along the exposed skin underneath as he pops the first button. “No one will know.”

“You —”

Drake backs him up against the wall, pressing in close with open-mouthed kisses that silence Liam immediately. His hands find Drake’s hair and he tugs almost imperceptibly, teeth dragging against his lower lip.

“What were you saying?” Drake whispers, breath hot. “You don’t want me on my knees in the hallway?”

“People could _hear_.”

“Let them,” Drake spreads his fingers out across Liam’s collarbone. “They should know you belong to me.”

“That’s — not fair —”

“Then don’t play by the rules.”

Liam only kisses him harder in response, and Drake reaches down to untuck Liam’s shirt, one hand slipping in and over the muscles of his stomach. “You’re so hot,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss Liam’s neck as his fingers trace lower, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Liam pulls his lip between his teeth, looking down at Drake with dark eyes. “I…” he tries to speak, but falters when Drake lowers down, kissing the places where his hands just were. “Drake…”

“Let me show you,” Drake says, kneeling in front of him, looking up through his eyelashes. Liam bites his lip harder, reaching both hands up to twist anxiously in his own hair as Drake steadies his grip on Liam’s hips.

“…Liam?” A voice calls from down the hall.

Drake stands up so fast he knocks into Liam’s chin with his head, gritting his teeth and swearing under his breath. Liam winces against the pain, trying rather unsuccessfully to tuck his shirt in with one hand while the other fumbles with the buttons.

Maxwell Beaumont stands at the corner, watching the two of them curiously. “Oh, Drake, you’re here too.”

“I dropped something,” Drake says loudly, rubbing at the spot where he had collided with Liam. He’s certain that’s going to leave a mark. “Just picking it up. Where I found it. On the floor.”

“Okay,” Maxwell seems oblivious, smiling at the two of them. “I’m so glad you came! I didn’t think you would, Drake, but Bertrand said he saw Savannah come in, so I thought maybe you might be here too.”

“What are you doing?” Liam asks, face still bright red, trying to act nonchalant even as he frantically smooths down his shirt.

“What do you mean?” Maxwell gestures in the direction of the downstairs, where the bassline can still be heard through the floor. “I’m at my party.”

“Your party is downstairs,” Drake says, “Shouldn’t you be down there, too?”

Maxwell shrugs. “Shouldn’t _you_ be?”

“Um…” Drake hesitates, eyes flicking over to Liam. “It’s just… a lot.”

“Exactly,” Maxwell sighs, looking off into the distance for a moment. “It’s probably my best work. Oh well.” He turns back to the two of them, but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. “Do you guys want anything? I was heading to the study, no one’s ever in there so it’s pretty chill. Although, no one’s ever up _here_ , and you both are, so who knows what we’ll find.”

“Of course he’s going to the study,” Drake mumbles under his breath, while Liam speaks over him, ever the diplomat: “That sounds nice, Maxwell. Thanks.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes — a rarity when it comes to Maxwell. Normally he’d be chattering away nonstop, but instead his eyes are trained ahead, hands shoved in his pockets. It’s weird enough that he’s not downstairs, mingling with his guests, but to find him completely alone and disinterested is something else altogether.

“Happy birthday,” Drake ventures, a tiny roll at levity. Maxwell shoots him that vacant smile again.

“Oh, thanks!” He’s really trying to sound like himself, that much is obvious. Without a lifetime of watching Liam play pretend, Drake might even buy it. But he knows better.

“Did you, uh… do anything fun?” 

Liam shoots him a confused look after he says this, one eyebrow raised, as if to say _what are you doing?_ Drake shrugs, mouthing back, _I don’t know_.

“I did _this_ ,” Maxwell replies, “This is my something fun.”

“The party that you’re not at?”

“It’s complicated,” Maxwell looks back at him. “You’ll understand when you’re twenty-one, Drake.”

Liam laughs, Drake only rolling his eyes. “Hilarious.”

Maxwell turns the corner, pausing in front of one of the doors Drake could’ve sworn he’d tried and opening it without so much as a moment’s struggle. He frowns when the door swings open.

“What?” Drake asks, wondering if maybe someone else had gotten there before them. But Maxwell’s expression is more dismay than disgust, his eyes flicking around the interior of the room with a hollow regard.

“It’s just…” He turns back towards them, face suddenly blank. “Nothing. Sorry. Come in?”

Liam and Drake exchange glances, but they both follow after him. Nothing about the room stands out, not particularly; it’s filled with mementos of the Beaumont family excelling at things, a favorite décor of the nobility. Framed portraits of Maxwell and Bertrand on polo horses, in tennis outfits, standing at the bow of a yacht.

It’s an afterthought, but once he and Liam are both settled into one of the large leather couches in the room, he notices there isn’t a single picture of Maxwell’s mom.

“Bertrand hides all the expensive liquor in here,” Maxwell says, hunting around behind the imposing desk at the center of the room. “It tastes disgusting, but if you guys want any…?”

“I’m good, thanks Maxwell,” Liam says politely. Drake nods in agreement, and Maxwell straightens up before collapsing back into the desk’s appropriately imposing chair.

“So,” he tilts his head, leaning on one hand. “What brings you to my office?”

Liam’s phone goes off, and he reaches in his pocket to silence it. Drake is still studying Maxwell, trying to pinpoint what’s off about him. “You did. You literally brought us here.”

“Well, I see college hasn’t changed you,” Maxwell sighs, “How was America?”

Drake thinks. “Loud.”

Maxwell nods knowingly. “Apropos.”

Liam’s phone goes off again, and this time he takes it out to silence it, apologizing, “Sorry, I should’ve just put it on do not disturb, I always —”

He freezes when he sees the screen. Drake puts a hand on his arm. “Liam?”

“It’s the King,” Liam says. His whole posture has suddenly changed, a rigidity in his body that wasn’t there before. “I have to — I’m sorry —”

He gets up from the couch immediately, striding towards the door as he answers, voice low. “This is Liam. Yes, thank you. I’ll hold.” He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking back at Drake apologetically, but Drake only shoots him a reassuring smile. Liam almost returns it, but then he’s speaking again, a quiet “Yes, sir,” into the phone before opening the door and slipping outside.

“I’m so glad I’m the spare,” Maxwell says, eyes lingering on the closed door. “I would lose my mind if I had to be in charge of this place.”

“Liam’s not the heir,” Drake says. It comes out too quickly.

Maxwell looks back over to him, expression unreadable. “Yeah, I just… you know what I mean.”

There’s a silence between them, punctuated by the faint sound of Liam’s voice outside the door. Drake can’t make out anything he’s saying, but there’s definitely a note of urgency in his tone.

“How long are you staying?” Maxwell asks.

“I don’t know.” _Forever_. “I don’t really want to go back. I didn’t belong there.” Drake glances around the room, desperate for a subject change. Maxwell seems to notice.

“Do you like the mausoleum to my dad?” He asks dryly. “I’ve been coming here a lot lately. It’s too quiet, if you ask me, but sometimes the rest of the world is too loud. I can sort of understand why someone might like it.”

Drake isn’t quite sure what to say, or if he’s supposed to say anything at all. “Do you come here to remember him?”

“Nah,” Maxwell shakes his head, running a finger along the carved wooden arms of his father’s old chair. “I was never allowed in here while he was still alive. It’s where he kept everything he was proud of.”

Drake pauses, finally asking, “Are you… drunk?”

“No,” Maxwell says, “Just sober.”

The door opens, both of them glancing back up in the direction of the sound, and there’s a split second where Drake catches Liam’s eye and sees right through him — straight into his red-rimmed soul — before he has a chance to settle back into polished decorum. Drake’s pretty sure Maxwell saw it too (after all, Liam wasn’t the only one raised to place appearances above all else), but his face betrays nothing.

“I have to go back home,” Liam announces, voice calm even though Drake knows better. “They’re requesting my presence at court.”

“That’s okay,” Maxwell sits up, smiling once again as if nothing has happened. “I’m glad you were able to make it. You too, Drake. Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, I —” Drake looks between the two of them. “Maxwell, could you, uh… would it be too much trouble to make sure my sister gets home alright?”

“I can have someone sent for her,” Liam interjects, but Maxwell shakes his head at him.

“It’s my party, I’ll make sure she gets back in one piece.”

“Cool.” Drake nods, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, thanks. And uh… see ya, I guess.”

“I guess!” Maxwell singsongs back, shooting them a finger gun as Liam leads Drake back out into the hall.

“Dude,” Drake starts to say, as soon as the door shuts behind them, “Something is up with that guy, he —”

Liam interrupts, grabbing his arm. “Drake, Leo left.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Liam sounds scared, his voice small. “They said he got intercepted by the police in Greece, but they didn’t bring him in or anything — he’s not answering calls, no one knows where he is.” He purses his lips, lifting his eyes to Drake’s. “My father, he asked me to take his place at the royal functions until they can find him.”

“Hold on,” Drake says, putting a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “He just… disappeared? I mean, is he okay? Is he safe?”

“It’s not like that,” Liam sighs, turning away. “He does this, remember? When he talks about freedom and traveling and… _abdicating,_ and—”

Drake shakes his head. “He wouldn’t. He finished the social season, he’s engaged… he’s just bullshitting, Liam. He’s probably just trying to rile up your dad and Regina one last time before he has to act all courtly for the rest of his life.”

“I know,” Liam whispers.

“Listen, it’s going to be fine, okay? He’s done this before, he always comes back.” Drake reaches for Liam’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Let’s just get back home and I’ll let you practice your speeches for me in the morning. Sound good?”

“I love you,” Liam says, catching his gaze and holding it. “I love you so much.” There’s a strange edge to his voice, an air of finality, but Drake passes it off as nerves.

“I love you too,” he answers. “I’m… you know I’m in love with you, right?”

Liam brings Drake’s hand up to his lips and kisses across his knuckles, eyes still locked on his. Drake feels the blush rising in his cheeks and looks away, overwhelmed.

“You’ll stay with me?” Liam asks.

It’s not even really a question; they both know where Drake will be sleeping tonight. The same place he’s slept every night, the same place he’s woken up in every morning, the same whiskey-laced bed they’ve carved a lifetime’s worth of firsts into. It’s not a question, no; more of an affirmation, a reassurance, a reminder that Liam has someone in his corner.

For a prince, his corner is shockingly empty at times.

“Of course,” Drake gives him a soft smile. “I’m with you ‘til the end.”

“The end,” Liam repeats, his eyes already years away.


End file.
